


He and I

by Doxsgirl (amaradangeli)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, MSR (this old XF tag is a THROW BACK), POV First Person, Pure 90s Fanfic, written by a teen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-07-14
Updated: 2001-07-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:23:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20643638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaradangeli/pseuds/Doxsgirl
Summary: Scully reflects on her relationship with Mulder and where she's prepared for it to go.





	He and I

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I wrote this story while I was in high school.
> 
> Yes, I thought Scully's internal voice in this was a spot-on characterization as well as an accurate depiction of the musings of a woman in her mid-thirties.
> 
> Yes, the formatting is a giant pain in the ass. But this isn't about readability folks, it's about entertainment. 
> 
> I contemplated leaving the spelling errors in place, but they were so easy to fix. I left 95% of the grammar errors. Enjoy. Don't try to make a drinking game out of counting ellipses - you will die. And if you think I still struggle with verb tense, prepare to be scandalized.
> 
> Also... (see what I did there?) I couldn't make myself actually read this in full. I'm embarrassed just to have read the parts I did to fix all the ellipses that were broken in the original plain text post.

After a really long day at work I love to come home, make some tea and  
enjoy a nice, hot bath. That is exactly what I plan to do today. I  
had an especially rough day today. Mulder and I have just wrapped up  
a case; the funny thing is, he suspected a swamp-thing like creature  
and after today's romp through the Florida swampland… I believe him. I  
have never had to sit through a flight this… disgusting. Mulder on the  
other hand was just as pristine as he was on our way to Florida. Why,  
then, you might ask, am I dirty… we obviously had time to clean up.  
No, we didn't. He didn't get dragged through the swamp like a puppy  
plaything by a grotesque `monster' that had a thing for women. It  
was torture. I don't think I'm going to forgive him for just standing  
there and waiting for someone dressed in non-Armani clothing to go out  
and get me. But the truth be told, I'm really okay, just very messy.  
I do believe that before I go soak in a bath, I need a shower. That  
too might seem strange, but who really wants to sit in a bathtub full  
of remnants of the Florida swamp? For that matter, screw the hot tea,  
I'm just going to go get clean.

I love my bathroom. It's so cozy and warm. Maybe the best of  
experiences haven't happened in here, but in my line of work, I can  
learn to let that go. I have an affinity for feminine smelling bath  
salts. In the bathtub is the one of the only places I'll let myself  
be overtly feminine. The other places are in my bed and in clothing  
shops. Not a wide range of femininity there, but it works for me.  
Showers. I hate showers. But in this case, it'll have to do. The  
room is already filling with the steam from the water that is only  
slightly cooler than boiling. I have no desire to scald myself. I am  
a really slow un-dresser. I like to savor the feeling of coming out  
of used clothing and coming to terms with the air around me. It feels  
so surreal to know that as soon as you take an outer skin off, you're  
suddenly better off than you were just moments ago. So here I am, in  
my glory and soaking up steam. It's so hot in here that I am starting  
to sweat. That normally wouldn't bother me, but I have so much gunk  
on my face I don't want it running into my eyes, or worse, my mouth. 

So, in I go. This feels so good. The hot spray is not only washing  
away the dirt, but the tension and aches and pains. After five  
minutes of just standing there I feel my anger at Mulder slipping away  
too. That's probably a good thing. He's no longer safe. I still  
have my gun; he lost his in Florida. Of course, he'd still have it if  
he hadn't tried to pick up that woman who turned out to be a cop. She  
took his Sig and kept on walking. He knew better than to press  
charges. He let her keep the gun, and he'll let the FBI buy him a new  
one. I guess that's okay, I pay taxes too, but it seems to me that  
most of my tax dollars are burnt up by Mulder and I alone. Next to my  
affinity for bath salts is my love for shampoo and conditioner. I  
have three different kinds. I have my everyday set which is a  
delightful mix of Chamomile and Thyme, I have my post-autopsy set that  
is heavily citrus-y, and then I have my favorite: it's from Victoria's  
Secret and it's called Amber Romance. This I use when I have a need  
to feel feminine and sexy. I'm going to use it tonight. I've never  
worn it around Mulder. 

For crying out loud that would start more problems than I am ready  
for. I have never felt the need to feel sexy around Mulder. Maybe  
that's because I know that no matter what, he'll always win in the  
sexy department. He's a damn fine-looking man. Too bad he's often so  
callous and rude. Don't get me wrong, he can be a gentleman too.  
He's proved his mettle there. I used to think that he didn't treat me  
like a woman because he didn't hit on me. Then I realized that he was  
treating me like a lady, well he almost always treats me like a lady.  
Then he'll throw an innuendo at me, but even that doesn't bother me.  
It seems like I play more now, too. If he flings, I'll fling back.  
It's this cycle that we've started. I don't always give him the  
satisfaction of knowing that I think like that too, but when I do, his  
eyes light up and keep the sparkle for the rest of the day. See, I  
tend to do it when he's having a bad day and I know that he's done it  
out of habit. I don't know whether to be flattered or upset that he  
does it out of habit. I'll worry about that later. Right now, I'm  
going to wash my hair. 

Washing my hair, or having my hair washed, is a relaxing activity for  
me. I've been known to go get my hair trimmed just so that some one  
will wash my hair. I guess that it's a good thing that it grows fast,  
there have been months that I have gone two or three times. Mulder  
always comments on my hair during those months, asking if I got my  
haircut, it looks a lot shorter than usual. I usually smile to  
myself and tell him, yeah, it was getting too long. Once again, truth  
be told, I like my hair long. The problem is, I don't have the  
patients for long hair anymore. The cut I wear now only has to be  
blown dry to look like I have taken the time to style it.

You'd think that with all the things I love about the ritual of  
bathing that I'd like the actual act of washing my body. I don't,  
really. It seems like such a waste of time. The water and the soap  
bubbles from the shampoo have already run down the body taking the  
grime with them, but being the consummate doctor, I know the  
importance of the actual washing. Like the shampoos, I have three  
body washes. My regular every day is a floral, the post-autopsy is  
actually lemon scented Dawn, and then I have Amber Romance to match my  
Shampoo and Conditioner. Since I'm pampering myself, despite the  
shower, I decide to continue with the Amber Romance. I don't use wash  
clothes. I have those loofa sponges that scratch just a little over  
the skin. I always feel like I'm getting cleaner if I exfoliate while  
I wash rather than smooth the soap with a cloth.

The hot water is gone. That occasionally happens when I have stayed  
in the shower thinking. I guess the bath will have to wait, but at  
lest I am clean. I also love the post shower process. I have a  
system. I always dry myself off and then sit on the edge of the  
bathtub to smooth lotion over my skin. I have very dry skin. Since I  
seem to be on the Amber Romance kick tonight I'll use that. Just as  
my other bath products are in groups of three, so is my lotion. My  
every day is Vaseline Intensive Care, my post-autopsy is made by a  
medical association specifically to cover the smell of formaldehyde,  
and then of course my Amber Romance. Now that I am dry and smooth, I  
towel dry my hair and then comb it strait. On a night like tonight, I  
don't bother dressing, I just throw on my robe and head into the  
kitchen. Now, I'll make tea. Tea is a ritual for me as well. I have  
a few kinds. When I want to wake up I drink herbal mint tea, when I  
want to sleep I drink Sleepytime tea and when I just want to relax I  
drink Earl Gray, Black Current or English Breakfast. Tonight I'm  
drinking Earl Gray because it the taste melds so well with that of  
Brandy. 

I've never been a heavy drinker. Every now and again I enjoy a cup of  
tea with a splash of Brandy my dad brought back from France. It's  
Cognac. It's supposed to be the best. I'll admit that it is good,  
but I don't have much to compare it to. When I go out I stick to  
wine. It's safe and then I don't end up drunk. I've never been a  
beer drinker either. So I enjoy my Cognac and wine and that's all. 

With my tea in hand I pick my novel up off the dining room table. I'm  
reading The Testament by John Grisham. I never read Grisham until I  
started spending a lot of time in airports and on airplanes. It seems  
like airport bookstores carry every Grisham ever written. I'm sorry  
to say that I am almost caught up. I've only got three chapters of  
this book left to read so I settle down on the couch and curl my legs  
beneath me. I sip the drink and let the brandy warm me further than  
the hot liquid. The world is forgotten as I get lost in the book. 

The world was brought back harshly when my phone rang. I knew who it  
was and I didn't want to talk. I let the machine pick it up.  
"Scully? It's me. I guess you aren't there. Where are you? Oh  
well, I'll talk to you later. Bye." What the conversationalist.  
It's not that I didn't want to talk to him, I didn't want to talk to  
anyone. The only one I would have talked to right then would be my  
mom. They say that the older you get the closer you get to your mom.  
I can never remember not being close to mom.

When I was little, mom and I shared this special bond that always  
seemed to make Missy jealous. I don't really know why, but she was  
also jealous of my relationship with dad. Bill was never close to our  
parents until he got older and wanted to be a Navy man like dad.  
Charlie, though, was close to mom, just like me. Thinking about my  
family always makes me think about Mulder... for two reasons. First and  
foremost is that I consider him family. Mom may be listed as my next  
of kin but he's listed as my "for emergencies call". We're close.  
It's a strange relationship, though. I'm sure to everyone looking in  
we look involved. We're comfortable with each other. But from the  
inside, there doesn't even feel like there is a hint of a romantic  
relationship. We both know that I love him and he loves me, but we  
don't seem to be "in" love with each other. It works for us. The  
second reason I think of him when I think of family is because I know  
that he doesn't think of his family the same way I think about mine.  
It's sad, really. I always wish that he could know the happiness that  
I know when with family. And then I remember… he doesn't have family  
anymore. Then when I remember that, I vow to invite him to every  
family gathering that comes along. When I do actually remember to  
invite him, he politely declines saying that he had plans. Who does  
his think he's fooling? I know he doesn't have plans, and besides who  
only has plans when someone invites them somewhere, anyway? At first  
I thought that it was me. But I know now that he is completely  
comfortable with me, and I with him, so it must be something else.  
Foolish thought-it's Bill.

Part of me really wishes that Bill would drop it already. Mulder  
self-esteem is so low already, and Bill needs to understand that  
Mulder is a huge part of my life. I don't have a life outside of the  
X-Files, and I don't really want one anymore. I don't have time for a  
life. When I do get a free moment or two, most often I spend it with  
Mulder. He seems to do better in my apartment than his own. I know  
that people crave contact, and I really do believe that he needs more  
life than just his fish. I think sometimes that if we really had it  
altogether, we'd move in together. It wouldn't be a bad idea. And  
then I think of the times he irritates me so much that I want to kill  
him. Then I think that it's probably a really good idea that we don't  
live together.

Then I start to think again. It's nights like tonight that I wish  
there was someone else in the house. Not really to talk to, but just  
to hear the breathing. It's funny how something small like the sound  
of inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale can be so comforting. I feel that  
comfort in cars and airplanes when he is so close that I can match my  
breathing to his. Most of the time I don't realize that I do it.  
Once, he pointed it out to me. That was comforting, to know that he  
concentrates on my breathing too. There is a lot of comfort attached  
to Mulder's and my relationship. I've never been very vocal about  
what comforts me, but the beauty of it is, Mulder seems to already  
know. It's times like that that I think we were born to know each  
other. Maybe even born to be together. Every now and then I torture  
myself with the thought that Mulder and I should be together and then  
I, again, think about the times that I want to kill him and be  
thankful that our relationship is just as it is.

Thinking like this makes me think of the message on my answering  
machine. He's probably just a lonely as I am, but he's smart enough  
to try to remedy the situation. I think briefly that I should call  
him back, but the last chapter of my book is calling to me. I'll just  
read this last paragraph and then I'll call... it's only ten o'clock  
anyway. I'm so tired, though. I'll just rest my eyes for a few  
minutes.

It's eleven thirty. My telephone woke me up. I know who it is again.  
I'm not mad. This time I answer it. "Hello?"

"It's me." His voice is quiet and a little forlorn.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm bored."

I'm about to surprise myself. "You want to come over?"

"Now?"

"Yeah, now. I'm bored too. We don't have to go to work tomorrow  
either."

"Scully, it's eleven thirty. I'll be after twelve when I get there."

"It's okay with me."

"Okay. I'll be there in a little while."

"Okay, see you soon." We hang up without saying goodbye. We usually  
do. It's another one of those comfort things.

Now my brain is working overtime. Why did I invite him over? Simple  
answers for a simple question... because I'm bored, he's bored and we  
(usually) enjoy each other's company. Questions answered, I go to  
make coffee. I know something about Mulder that makes me smile. Most  
men prefer just plain old Folgers to flavored coffee. Mulder is not  
one of those men. He really loves Barnie's Hazelnut Amaretto coffee.  
It's gourmet and it's expensive, but I buy it anyway. So I put some  
of this coffee on. Who cares if it’s got caffeine, he doesn't really  
sleep anyway and I'm not going to drink any. I have one of those slow  
drip percolators that are supposed to make the coffee taste richer and  
more robust without adding more grounds. Mulder says that it works.  
I drink coffee so strong you could stand a spoon in it so I couldn't  
really tell you if this did any good or not. All I can tell you is  
that it's a pain in the butt when you don't have much time. It takes  
half an hour to perk two cups. The four-cup drip I've put on for  
Mulder will be ready just moments after he walks through the door. I  
have experience in this area of expertise.

We know a lot about each other, he and I. For instance, I know that  
he brushes his hair before he brushes his teeth, he puts on one sock  
and then one shoe and then the other sock and then the other shoe. By  
the same token I know that he knows that I do certain thinks certain  
ways as well. That is what comes from spending so much time with a  
person. Bill thinks that we spend too much time together. I don't  
think that we do. Of course I don't think that we do… most of the  
time. But of course Bill hates Mulder and that is probably where the  
too much time thing comes into the picture. Why is it that whenever I  
think about Mulder that I seem to think about Bill? I think it's  
because Mulder is such a touchy subject between Bill and me. Once  
again Bill needs to realize that Mulder is a major part of my life.  
That would solve everything. If Bill would just realize that Mulder  
is here to stay, it would all be so much easier! But I could go on  
about this all night, and that just isn't healthy.

So I'll read to pass the time. I never finished the last chapter in  
my Grisham novel. I'm not really concentrating, I'm just reading to  
pass the time. I know that Mulder will be here soon and to tell you  
the truth, I'm anxious for him to get here. More to the point, I'm  
anxious for conversation. It's sad, my life. It's after twelve and  
instead of sleeping like a normal person, I'm craving conversation.  
Now, the truth be told (I seem to be in a truth telling mood), I'm not  
really craving any conversation, I'm craving Mulder's conversation.  
See, there is this little part of me that is really happy every time  
that we talk. Grant it, he is my best friend, so we do share things  
and talk like I don't really talk to other people. 

Grisham's novel was good. One of the better ones so far. I'll  
probably have to go back and reread the last chapter, but the skimming  
will do for now. The clock on the wall says that it's twelve twenty.  
That means that Mulder will be here any time now. I'll put more water  
on to boil now, that way he can have his coffee and I can have my tea.  
I'll stick to Sleepytime now. If I fall asleep and he's still here,  
he'll go home or tell me to go to bed and then collect the pillow and  
blanket I leave in the linen closet for him when he sleeps on the  
couch. We have a system. It works. Just like Mulder seems to like  
my apartment better, he sleeps better here. He tells me, though I  
don't know for sure, that he doesn't have nightmares when he sleeps  
here. He also tells me that he sleeps longer. Fewer distractions and  
more comfort, he tells me. I'm glad, I just don't really understand  
it. Maybe it's that I'm just a few rooms away if he needs to be woken  
up. Maybe that's just wishful thinking.

There is a knock at the door and the tea kettle whistles at the same  
moment. I call to Mulder, telling him to use his key and head into  
the kitchen. Moments later his lounged in the doorway a small smile  
on his face. "Hi." Apparently conversation isn't on the agenda  
tonight for me, and I thought I was in the mood to talk.

"Hey, Scully. You mind if I poor myself some coffee?" He asks. His  
voice still had that tired weight to it. Another thing that I know  
about Mulder… when he gets tired his voice gets raspy, like he's been  
yelling. I know instinctively that the rasp is only from tiredness  
and no yelling. He had a different look when he's been yelling; he's  
a very visual yeller.

"Of course not. Help yourself." There we go, I actually strung some  
words together. My voice is quieter than usual. I'm not feeling  
sick; maybe I'm more tired than I thought. I make myself the tea  
anyway. He gets a cup out of the cupboard, which is nice. He knows  
where stuff is. It takes him only a moment to pour the coffee and he  
immediately takes a sip, which is another habit of his. Most people  
wait for it to cool a little, not Mulder. 

"Mmm, this is my coffee." He smiles appreciatively at me, he always  
does when he realizes that I've made him his favorite coffee.

"Yup." There I go again. I really did think that I wanted to talk.  
I better make an effort here. "Come on in to the living room, we can  
get comfortable on the couch." I'm not usually inquisitive about his  
visits here but I inquire anyway, "Are you going to stay here  
tonight?"

He smiles like I've made the best suggestion in the world. That is a  
brilliant smile. It reaches from the tip of his chin to this special  
luster in his eyes. "If that's okay."

"Of course, I'll grab your stuff on the way out there." I go ahead  
and pull his blanket and pillow down. He's already seated on the  
couch when I get there. I notice that his coffee is on the coffee  
table and throw the bedding at him. "I'll be right back." I'm going  
to get him his overnight bag from my closet. It's got a T-shirt and  
shorts for him to sleep in and a change of casual clothes wrapped  
around his toiletries. When I return with his bag and set it next to  
the couch he thanks me and lifts his cup to his lips. "You want some  
Amaretto for that?" I know, for a person who doesn't really drink I  
sure do have a lot of liquor in the house. I do entertain every now  
and then, and on the rare occasion I like a sip myself.

"Sure, thanks." I go over to a china cabinet that has a bottom mantel  
that holds my liquors. I retrieve the bottle and sit on the couch  
handing it to him. One of my favorite things to watch is a man pour  
liquor. They all do it the same. Pour and then twist while lifting  
the top. Mulder always runs his finger along the lip of a bottle and  
catches the last of the elixir on his index finger. Most often he  
offers me the drop with a wag of the eyebrows, but tonight he just  
consumes it himself. He must be really tired. "Sorry I was so crabby  
on the plane today." I say in an attempt to start a conversation.

"It's okay, I deserved it. I'm sorry that I didn't come in after  
you."

"Me too, but it's over and done with so don't worry about it anymore."  
Apparently that is what had him weighted down so. His shoulders  
visibly lift and his face relaxes some. 

"You know, Scully, a lot of things ran through my mind this  
afternoon."

"What do you mean, Mulder?"

"When I saw that thing, whatever it was, snatch you up and pull you  
under, I thought that I had lost you."

"Mulder, that's not the worst thing that's ever happened to me." Now  
that could definitely be an understatement, but right now, that's what  
he needed to hear.

"I'm just so sorry Scully that I didn't try to help."

"Mulder, I don't know what was going on in your head at that moment,  
but I want you to know that it's okay. I'm alive and unharmed. I'm  
not even sore, Mulder. Please don't worry about it anymore, okay?  
All the damage has been washed down the drain. Face it, Mulder, I  
wasn't even wearing one of my suits." I laugh in hopes that he'll  
join me. Thankfully he does and then takes a long swig of his coffee.  
That's his sign that he's okay with this now. I'm glad that this  
doesn't have to extend past this night because I don't want to think  
about it anymore. A yawn escapes me, though I'm not entirely sure  
where it came from.

"Scully, you're tired. You should go to bed." This brilliant man.  
Tired… go to bed… what a thought. But instead of being sarcastic with  
him I just smile and nod my agreement.

"You're right, Mulder. I'll see you in the morning. If you need  
anything… well, you know where everything is. Good night."

"'Night, Scully." 

So here I go. I'm leaving him on the couch even though I have this  
undeniable urge to curl up with him and spend the night there. Wow.  
Where is all of this coming from? Every now and then I'll go through  
my "I have a crush on Mulder" stage and then I get over it. Maybe  
that's what's going on now. Besides I've already talked about why it  
would be a bad idea for us to get together. 

It's so late and I'm so tired that I can't sleep. Have you ever felt  
that way? You can feel the distant sleep claiming your body: your  
lungs first as your breaths get longer and deeper, then it grips your  
heart, slowing the beating to a regular enchanting rhythm. Then your  
eyes become slightly fogged and heavy lidded. Just as you feel  
yourself begin to succumb to the night your brain sends a message to  
everywhere else that wires you back up again. Unfortunately, it's not  
that second wind type of recharge, it's that "I'm too tired to sleep"  
type of recharge. So here I lay, focusing on the ceiling. 

The sheets feel good against my bare skin. This I really don't  
believe. I'm sleeping naked. This is a fairly new habit for me.  
Now, with my partner less than fifty feet away, I'm doing it still. I  
know that he won't bother me during the night, and I know that even if  
he does wake up first, he'll let me wake up on my own. But still,  
this is very strange. I remember mentioning the comfort level. I  
believe that I've just brought myself to a new level. It's thinking  
along these lines that tires my brain out. It always does. I seem to  
sleep best if I analyze my relationship with Mulder. Maybe that's my  
subconscious telling me something. Either our relationship is boring  
as hell, or it's relaxing. I prefer to think the latter, but who  
really knows? So maybe now, I'll give way to the sleep as it washes  
over my body.

+++++++++

I was right. Mulder let me sleep until I woke on my own. It's  
probably a good thing because through the night I had gotten hot and  
thrown the blankets off of me. That, like sleeping nude, is  
uncharacteristic. I wonder what's going on with me. I had a really  
weird dream last night. There was no beginning and no end; I was just  
running thought a field that had been burnt off. I'll have to ask  
Mulder the dream analyst about that one. I wonder if he's still here.  
Sometimes, when he has things to do, he'll just leave in the morning  
when he wakes up. He usually leaves a note on my pad on the  
refrigerator if he leaves, but not always.

When I'm at home, I don't usually get dressed up… who does? So today,  
like most other Saturdays, I pull on a pair of jeans and a Quantico  
sweatshirt. Today I'm going barefoot. I love walking barefoot. In  
the winter, when the floors are cold, I'll put on a pair of socks.  
But it's August. It's not hot out and it's not cold. It's this  
delightful mixture of cool and warm that seems to only swirl twice a  
year… once in August and once in April. The weather is what I love  
most about living in Washington D.C. I've always been a rain person.  
I like thunder and lightning and gray, dreary days. I also love the  
days that are sunny and bright. Imagine the irony in that, I love  
both ends of the spectrum.

Mulder's here. I can hear Wile E. Coyote cartoons when I open my  
bedroom door. It's been many years since I watched cartoons on a  
Saturday morning. My usual Saturday routine is to get up, have some  
breakfast throw some laundry in the washer and go for a run. By the  
time I get back the laundry is more than ready to be thrown into the  
dryer and I feel like a new woman. But Mulder's here this morning so  
I'm going to watch cartoons. When I stand in the hallway, I know this  
from experience, I can see him sitting on the couch. He usually  
doesn't realize that I'm here, but every now and then he'll surprise  
me by starting a conversation with me without ever looking in my  
direction. It's times like that that I don't think he heard me, I  
just think that he sensed me.

He doesn't seem surprised when I plop down next to him on the couch  
and settle in for the rest of the program. Maybe he is, I don't know.  
If he is, he's not showing it. This is nice, really. We're watching  
cartoons together. This is normal, right? I also think that he's in  
a better mood now. He's wearing a slight smile and the clothes from  
his overnight bag. The shirt is slightly wrinkled but wearable. I  
can see that he was expecting me to come and watch with him. There is  
another glass of orange juice next to the one he is obviously drinking  
out of. That momentarily irks me. What if I didn't want to watch?  
What if I didn't want the orange juice? I guess it's not really a big  
deal, he could drink it or pour it out. But it still bothers me that  
he *expected* me. I'm over it now. It really was a nice gesture.

We haven't said a word to each other, but it is a comfortable silence.  
There's that word again. Comfortable. I wonder if we are turning  
into a comfortable, old married couple that isn't married or even  
dating. It seems weird. The only thing that we don't do together  
that couples do is sleep together. I don't really mind that though.  
At least I don't really mind that today. Tomorrow could be a whole  
new story. As I said before I go through this crush stage every now  
and then. It's quite annoying to be disrupted by that, but the  
sensation isn't completely unpleasant. There is something about the  
thrill of the chase. And chase I do for those three or four days.  
Maybe that's why Mulder has told people that he gets mixed signals  
from me. Sorry, Mulder, it's not me. It's my hormones. 

We're still not talking and it's been ten minutes. Now it seems  
weird. I wonder if I should say something. Gentility gets the better  
of me so I inquire, "You sleep well, Mulder?"

"As usual." He replies with a smile. "How about you?"

"Like a baby. That reminds me, I want to talk to you about this dream  
I had."

"Sure, shoot partner." He turns and faces me on the couch. He has  
this look of curiosity on his face that looks like he's trying to  
cover it up so that he *won't* look curious.

"It was a simple dream really, but kind of disturbing in its nature."  
He has the decency to look genuinely interested. I wonder if he  
really is. "When the dream starts I'm running through this field  
that's been burnt."

"Burnt?"

"Yeah, you know like they do to make sure that when grass comes back  
it comes back healthy and thick. I think the burning is supposed to  
put carbon back in the soil. Anyway, and when the dream ends, I'm  
still running but it's like I never got anywhere."

"Are you scared in the dream?"

It's a logical question, but it irritates me because I don't know the  
answer. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"I don't know what to say to a dream like that. The no end and no  
beginning is a symbol of not knowing where you're coming from or where  
you are going. The field is usually representative of many choices.  
The burning may symbolize that you think you may have burned some of  
your bridges somewhere."

"I guess that makes sense. I wonder what my subconscious is trying to  
tell me." 

"I don't know. Have you had visions of pyromania lately?"

I match his joking demeanor with a joke of my own. "Only when I think  
of setting the office on fire again." I lift my eyebrows  
expressively. "I'm going for a run, you want to come?"

Running is very therapeutic for me. I'm glad that he decided to join  
me. Turns out that he had a pair of running shorts in that bag. Go  
figure. Back to running. I love the sound of our footfalls on the  
pavement as we run through across the streets of Bethesda. It's  
misting now. Mist isn't rain. It's very similar to those little fans  
that you can get at amusement parks that have a squirt bottle attached  
so you can assault yourself with a fine spray. This mist is pleasant.  
Strands of hair that have fallen out of my ponytail are sticking to  
my face, but that's okay. At least it's not unbearably hot out here.  
Similarly, Mulder's hair is plastered to his face as well. He seems  
to be wetter than I am and then I notice the weights around his  
ankles. It's sweat. The weights must be why we stopped at his car  
momentarily. I wasn't paying attention. I was jogging in place and  
checking out the guy across the street. Too late. He probably thinks  
that I am involved with Mulder.

Isn't that the truth? Boy am I involved with Mulder. Grant it, it's  
not a romantic relationship, but I have all I can handle anyway.  
There is so much involvement that came with my work on the X-Files.  
With my challenging career as an FBI agent came the mothering  
responsibilities that come with working with a man like Mulder. With  
that came the added stress of health problems (that too is a gross  
understatement) and psychological misgivings. It seems like if I had  
a significant other it would just complicate things more, and to tell  
you the truth (again), I don't think that I could handle any more  
complications. That just may be my undoing. 

That's not to say that I don't sometimes wish for a relationship. And  
then, most the time, I'm wishing for one with Mulder. Face it, he's a  
nice, handsome, available guy. He's got his problems, but so do I.  
If he can forgive, so can I. Here I am talking like this is actually  
going to happen. Maybe I do want a relationship with him more than I  
thought. I seem to think about it a lot. Once again, it's probably  
just my hormones. We won't even talk about how long it's been since I  
had sex. That is a travesty.

Maybe that burning field was my subconscious telling me that I think  
that I've burned the relationship bridges with Mulder. Who knows? It  
wasn't that explicit. Mulder wasn't even in the dream. Maybe I'm  
just reaching. I've never been into the dream analysis thing, but  
that one left me with such an unsettled feeling that I felt I needed  
to address it. Maybe now I can let it go.

The mist is starting to turn into angry rain and I can feel it pelting  
at my face. I'm actually enjoying the moment of torment when Mulder's  
voice shakes me out of my reverie. "What?" I have to ask even though  
I don't want to admit that I wasn't paying attention to him.

"I asked you if you wanted to head on in. It's getting really wet out  
here." The last was meant to be a joke, I'm sure. He had this goofy,  
sarcastic grin on his face.

"Yeah, it's just a half a block more. It's dangerous to run in a  
downpour and it looks like we'll be getting one any moment." Speak of  
the devil. Just as the words left my mouth the rain left the sky.  
Torrential buckets fell from the heavens while thunder shook the  
ground and lightening flashed across the sky. We unconsciously pick  
up the pace until we're literally galloping toward my apartment  
building. Stepping into the lobby is sweet satisfaction mixed with a  
form of Chinese water torture-now we can feel our clothes sticking to  
us. I briefly think that Mulder's going to have to wear yesterday's  
clothes while we wait for his stuff to dry, but then I'm snapped back  
to the present.

It's Saturday and everyone in the building is doing laundry.  
Consequentially, the dryer is drying at a speed slightly slower than  
air-drying. But it's okay... I have entertainment. Mulder is baking.  
Yeah, you heard me right, baking.brownies.in my kitchen. You should  
see the disaster he's making. It is unbelievable how this man can  
keep his automobile so immaculate that it looks like it is off the  
showroom floor, yet every room he occupies looks like it should be in  
the wake of a natural disaster. My kitchen, no joke, looks like it  
should have fallen victim to a mudslide. Mud would be easier to clean  
up. Mulder doesn't know it yet, but he's going to be here for a  
loooooooong time. He's cleaning this up.

While he is doing a wonderful job of ruining my kitchen, there is  
something basic about watching a man cook. Now I know that mixing up  
a box of Betty Crocker doesn't exactly qualify as cooking, but follow  
me here. I do believe that cooking was always intended to be a  
sensuous activity. The muscles play along the back every time an  
object is lifted or the body needs to turn. The angle the body must  
conform to as something slides into the oven can be no coincidence.  
Here I am, going on about the man that I don't want a relationship  
with right now. But hey, I'm a strange woman and cooking turns me  
on.

He's an obsessive-compulsive baker. Before putting the brownies in  
the oven, he's taking the time to lay walnut halves in the center of  
what will eventually be each brownie. This is really bad. Either I'm  
boring him or he's really like this. I hope that I'm boring him  
because I have too many psychoses to worry about with him as it is.  
It's funny really, when the buzzer for the dryer goes off he jumps  
higher than I do. Was he lost in thought? I almost forgot whom we  
were talking about… of course he was. We both were. No talking again.  
There's that blasted comfort level.

"I'm going to go get the laundry." I sound so idle. It feels like  
we're a family and any minute the kids should come running in out of  
the rain, hurl themselves into us and tell us what happened at the  
park today. But there are no kids. We're not a family. But you know  
what? It's okay. I never thought that I'd get used to the fact that  
I wouldn't be a mommy, but I'm used to it, and it really is okay now.

"I'll come help you in a minute. I want to get this pan rinsed out or  
it'll be hell to get the batter out."

"Okay." It's that simple. We're going to do laundry together. I  
know that he's helping because some of it is his, but there is  
something completely homey about it. This is nice. But I know,  
especially when I give it a lot of thought, that we're just acting  
like the good friends that we are. We're not really acting married  
like I though before. We're just acting… comfortable.

I'm sad now. I don't really know why. I know that today I've been  
thinking a lot about the "normal life" kind of stuff, but it doesn't  
usually turn me into this mess I've become. Maybe I'm cycling. Isn't  
that the worst thing you've heard? I can't have kids yet I'm still  
saddled with monthly PMS and it's evil sister menstruation. I think  
some things are just cruel jokes.

+++++++++

Monday mornings are both the best and worst things that can happen to  
a person. They are the best because most people, luckily, love their  
jobs. They can be worst because everyone loves the weekends that no  
work is required. This Monday morning, though, has found me filled  
with trepidation. The Saturday that I spent with Mulder was an  
experience that I am not likely to forget anytime soon. I had a  
wonderful time having someone there to talk to when I wanted to talk,  
but I loathed not having privacy at every moment that I wanted it.  
So, as usual, I can't decide if I want him or not. Maybe, one day  
soon I'll get over it. 

Now, I am about to walk into the office and confront the man that I  
have just recently played house with. This isn't a bad thing so much  
as it is a scary thing. What is he going to think? That's really a  
stupid question. He's going to be thinking the same things he did  
when he left and he didn't seem to be weirded out by it at all.  
That's a funny word, "weirded", isn't it? It's not really a word is  
it? It's also an old word, but it fits the situation perfectly.  
Anyway, what I am worried about? This is going to be like any  
ordinary Monday morning.

This is not ordinary. Mulder's not in the office. Okay, don't panic,  
it's no big deal. Maybe he left me a note. Yes, he did. He's gone  
to Virginia for the day for "personal matters" and I should just do  
some paperwork and cut out early. How nice of him. Now what are  
these personal matters that he is talking about? I guess he'll tell  
me in his own good time, but it still irks me to know that he'd just  
leave and not offer any explanation. But, then again, I suppose that  
it's none of my business.

I cut out early like he suggested and now I'm on my way to the grocery  
store to pick up a pint of Ben & Jerry's. I have a weakness and it's  
called Phish Food. Wouldn't Mulder get a kick out of that? I wonder  
if he knows that the stuff exists. I really like to grocery shop.  
It's a relaxing activity to me in that I can pick whatever I want and  
justify it as sustenance. But today I am a woman on a mission and  
that mission is ice cream. Often I marvel at the selection of ice  
creams in the freezer section of my local Publix. Have you ever  
counted them? There are two hundred and three different varieties of  
ice cream between the different brands and flavors. Isn't that  
astounding? Can you imagine putting that much thought into something  
as simple as junk food? Don't even get me started on potato chips.

I have a bad habit of starting on my ice cream on the way home from  
the grocery store. I always go by the deli on the way out and grab  
one of those plastic spoons that bends almost in half every time that  
you stick it in the ice cream to take a bite. Today is no different  
than those other days and today I'm more desperate. I've turned the  
air conditioning in my car off so that I can dig in easier. Isn't  
that pathetic? But I deserve this ice cream. I wonder what's up with  
Mulder.

There I go again.it seems like even when I don't want to think of him  
I do. It's not that I don't want to think of him, it's that I  
shouldn't think about him. Like today. Whatever his errand was,  
it's personal. I can live with that. It's okay. I'm in front of my  
apartment building now… I never even realized that I arrived and got  
out of the car. I usually get that deep into thought when I think  
about one of three things. Mulder, the X-Files, or my mom. Strange  
combination, I know, but it seems to work for me.

I have a really great idea. I'm going to enjoy this ice cream while I  
take a bubble bath. I told you before, I'm a strange woman, but there  
is logic to my madness. Ice cream and bubble baths are my favorite  
things and I see no reason not to combine the two. This should be  
interesting if nothing else. The ice cream has taken the form of a  
milk shake and I am no closer to being clean, but I'm relaxed and  
happy so who cares? I've been in here long enough for the water to  
cool off and my skin is wrinkled and shrived like a raisin and I'm  
starting to become goose pimpled. I've been in here for over an hour.

I know that I'm not going to get anything done today. That's okay, I  
always need a day off. It's three in the afternoon and I'm going to  
sit on my couch and watch daytime television. I've missed the credits  
for all of the shows and find myself faced with the options of poorly  
acted soap operas, Jerry Springer spin-offs, and after school  
programming. Then I flip one channel further. Whoo-hoo! Mr. Lamprey  
down the hall must have ordered The Playboy Channel again. You see,  
everyone on this floor has their cable wired together so when one  
person buys pay-per-view, we all reap the benefits. I keep flipping,  
I'm not a prude, but that's not my type of programming. 

That kind of programming is right up Mulder's alley, though. I would  
absolutely hate to see how much that man spends on triple-X material  
in one month alone. It's obscene. Not necessarily the habit or the  
materials, but the amount of money he's willing to spend. I'm not  
usually quick to judge, but in this case I'm willing to make a  
judgement. It would be no problem for Mulder to find a woman to date  
or to just… enjoy. I think this little problem of his may be more of a  
bigger problem.

The ringing phone woke me up. I never even realized that I had gone  
to sleep. It rings again before I decide that I had better answer it.  
"Hello?" A click on the other end informs me that the caller has  
hung up. Oh, well. Normally I'd probably be a little paranoid about  
it, but today is a calm day and I'm going to let it go. A quick look  
out the window tells me that I've been asleep for a good many hours;  
night has claimed the city and the only thing to see in lights in the  
distance blanked with pin-hole stars. Confirming that it is night the  
digital clock on my VCR flashes 8:00. 

Getting up off the couch is something that I'd rather not face, but my  
stomach is complaining that I haven't fed it since the ice cream. I  
remember some left over linguini in the fridge from yesterday and  
decide that it's my best bet for dinner tonight. Walking into the  
kitchen I spot another drop of Mulder's brownie batter that he missed  
when he "supposedly" cleaned up the kitchen. He did a really bad job  
of cleaning it up-I've been finding remnants of that batter every  
where for the past two days.

I know that sleep will be difficult for me tonight, I did take a  
five-hour nap! But I've killed as much time as I dare, and I'm  
planning to go to bed now, after all, it's eleven already and I have  
to get up at six-thirty. I'm reading a new book now. I just picked  
it up off of my desk. My mom loaned it to me about a month ago and  
told me that it was a "must-read". It's called "The Eight" and it's  
by Katherine Neville. It's extremely long, but mom says that it is  
worth every page.

Tonight is a pajama night. The rain from Saturday has been hanging  
over the city since and it's decided to commence into a deluge that  
will undoubtedly last all night. That's fine with me. There is  
something completely comforting about the rumble of thunder outside my  
window. It's so natural and basic. I select green, flannel pants  
pajamas that Melissa gave me a few years before she died. I sometimes  
wonder if these are my favorite because I like them or because she  
gave them to me. It's probably a combination of both.

My bed is so comfortable. I have owned a few mattresses in my day and  
I have to say that this is the best one I've ever had. It's one of  
those cheap ones that nobody buys because they're cheap, but it's been  
fantastic. I have the softest cotton sheets, also. I know that  
they are so soft because they're about fifteen years old and have been  
beat up by the washing machine, but I don't care. My pillows are  
fluffy and my bedspread is the perfect combination of warm and cool.  
I love it all. The whole combination is mesmerizing. Settling into  
bed I pick my glasses up off of my nightstand and switch my alarm on.  
I'm scarcely three pages into my book when the doorbell rings to  
announce company. A quick glance at the clock assures me that it  
really is eleven thirty. 

It's Mulder. Big surprise. I swing the door open and I know that I  
must look curious. "Hi." I'm speechless. I really don't know why  
he's here, but I hope it's not to tell me to pack for a case in some  
generic local.

"Hi, Scully. What are you doing?"

"Reading, actually. I was just lying down for the night. Do you want  
to come in?"

"Yes, thank you. I don't want to disturb you though."

"You won't if you'll let me read. So tell me, where were you today?"

"What? Oh, I had some estate to settle.my uncle died."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I didn't know him really. My mom's adopted brother.  
Apparently he thought the world of me, though."

"Oh." There isn't really much you can say to that. "Well, Mulder, I  
really want to read this book my mom gave me, but you shouldn't leave.  
Why don't you watch some TV?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Okay." I fully intend for him to flop down on the couch when I say,

"I'm going to use the bathroom, I'll be out in a minute." Very much  
to my surprise, when I walk into my bedroom he's sprawled  
unceremoniously on the "other" side of the bed flipping through the  
channels on my small television set. I climb into the bed shaking my  
head and wait for him to say something.

"You mind?" He finally asks.

"Nope, just don't disturb me." I know that I am smiling a little and  
that's probably why he doesn't take offense.

"Deal." He silently flips through the channels for a while before  
settling on an old science fiction movie. At one o'clock I'm finally  
ready to call it a night. Mulder's still engrossed in his movie when  
I turn the lights off. 

"Set the sleep timer on that things so that after you fall asleep  
it'll go off. I don't want to wake up in a few hours to the sound of  
Suzanne Sommers advertising some new exercise equipment." 

"Okay." And it was decided. He was sleeping here tonight, all right.  
In my bed. With me in it also. It's not that we have never slept in  
close proximity before, it's just that now he's in my bed, and that  
changes the situation entirely. 

I wake up almost an hour later to see his eyes still glued to the  
screen watching the credits as they roll too fast to read. "Mulder,  
why don't you take off your shoes and jeans and get under the covers.  
You won't be comfortable there like that all night." I can't believe  
that I just said that. I basically told him to strip down to his  
shorts and T-shirt and climb into bed with me. The look he gives me  
is dripping with incredulity as he slowly stands and does an extremely  
clean version of a strip tease. His running shoes are neatly aligned  
next to the bed and he turns away from me to undo and remove his  
jeans. What a wonderful time for modesty. His shirt joins his jeans  
in the corner and he joins me in the bed. 

I had forgotten what it felt like to have another body in bed with  
you. There is this heat that comes from someone else that when it  
mixes with your own body heat creates a shield that is present no  
where else. His side is still dipped with his weight as it was  
before, but now you can tell even without looking that he is lying  
down rather than sitting up. The effect on my side is different.  
This feels absolutely amazing. I have half a mind to ask him to spend  
the night every night.

I have a total sense of security with him lying next to me. It's true  
that having a man in the house is comforting. It's almost like having  
a personal bodyguard. Mulder has often played that roll for me.  
Sometimes his protectiveness seems brotherly and sometimes it's  
more… possessive. I'm not complaining though. It's great to feel  
protected and watched over. I'll just never let him know that I have  
to pretend to be mad when he gets too possessive. It's really just  
for show. I don't want him thinking that he owns me. 

I wonder if he's still awake. I can't tell because his breathing is  
always slow and even. It's probably more even when he's awake. I  
guess I could just ask. If he's really asleep, my quiet voice won't  
wake him. Should I ask? What excuse could I possibly give for  
wanting to know if he's asleep or awake? Maybe I shouldn't ask. I'm  
not going to. I'm normally so level headed and cool, but this man  
just seems to melt me whether or not I want him to. I said before  
that I knew I loved him, but I wasn't sure I was in love with him.  
Now I know that I am. I have never been this form of me with anyone  
else, and it's a comfortable form of me. There's that word again. I  
guess our relationship really is comfortable. 

I rarely feel embarrassed in front of him. I can thoroughly screw up  
and still not turn the slightest shade of pink. I wonder when that  
happened. I can still remember when I did get embarrassed around him.  
It was usually when I was indulging myself in a little Mulder-fantasy  
during those "I have a crush on Mulder" times and he'd break my  
concentration with, "A penny for your thoughts, Scull. Or if you want  
I'll give you a dollar if you'll show me what you're thinking." I  
hate it when he made those comments; it made me feel like he knew what  
was going on inside my head. Luckily, he doesn't do that anymore.  
Now it's almost three o'clock, and I've kept myself up once again  
over-analyzing my relationship with Mulder. I just have to stop,  
close my eyes and concentrate on sleep.

+++++++++

He's here again tonight. We both know why, neither of us needs to  
pretend. He's lying here next to me… watching the Playboy Channel  
courtesy of my neighbor down the hall, and I'm here reading my book.  
The program, if you can call it that, that he is watching doesn't  
bother me. He has the sound turned all the way down to keep from  
disturbing me. Mulder watches porn like it's any other television  
show. He's not visibly affected by what's playing out on my TV  
screen. Once he murmurs a "wow" and I glance up and comment, " I  
didn't know that was anatomically possible." I can almost feel his  
incredulous look as I resume reading. Maybe I can break this notion  
that I'm an ice-maiden after all.

He's looking at the TV again with a small smirk on his face; I can see  
him out of the corner of my eye. He must be surprised that I'm not  
angered by his choice of entertainment-like I said before, I'm not a  
prude. His movie ends abruptly when the power goes out. This is  
going to be weird. Now we are going to have to be supremely conscious  
of each other. Last time we were both absorbed in our own forms of  
media and then we slept. I know that we could both sleep now, but I  
know that neither of us will. And, if we get up now to take some of  
the tension out of the situation, we both know that he'll leave and we  
both know that neither of us wants him to leave.

Mulder saves the day. Night? Whatever it is, Mulder saves it. "Tell  
me about the book you're reading, Scully." He says this as he takes  
it out of my hands and marks the page. Without waiting for me to  
begin he climbs out of the bed and walks over to the light switch to  
turn the overhead light off so that when the electricity comes on we  
won't wake up. The only light illuminating his path back to the bed  
is the lightning strikes that light the night like florescent bulbs.  
He bumps his shin on the bed with a small "oof" and I stifle giggles  
as he flops into the bed. "The book, Scully?" That was a gentle  
reminder that I was to speak.

"Well, I'm only twenty pages into it, but so far it's good. I don't  
really have much that I can tell you about it. The characters are  
going on about some strange old chess pieces."

"It sounds great." He says dryly.

"It really is better than it sounds." I'm laughing at the wry tone of  
my voice. It's actually a pretty nice laugh. I should use it more  
often. "Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Should we talk about this?" We both know that I am talking about him  
sleeping over like he is.

"No." He doesn't sound angry, upset, or dejected. It's just a simple  
answer to a simpler question and I silently thank him for it.

"Okay." After that we both fall silent and eventually sleep.

+++++++++

My God, this is one beautiful man. There are only a few things about  
him that I don't care for and nothing that I would change. He is lying  
here, sleeping next to me. He's undeniably sexy and handsome, but  
he's also beautiful. From the meter of his breath to the bend of his  
knee he is truly the most remarkable man I've ever seen. He's  
brilliant to the point of absurdity. He wears intelligent well. He  
kind and caring like no other I've ever met - man or woman. He's  
mentally and emotionally binding and splendid. He's physically  
magnificent. So why do I have so much trouble showing him how much I  
love him? He's understanding to a fault when it comes to me. If I  
were to tell him how very much I love him I know he'd accept me well.  
He accepts everything else about me without a question. I also think  
that he'd be thrilled to know. I don't want to sound cocky, but I  
know that he loves me, and I'm pretty sure he loves me as much as I  
love him. But bless his heart, he's just as scared as I am. I think  
I'm the only person that really scares him.

I've matched my breathing to his just lying here thinking about him.  
It startles me when he says, "You're breathing like me again."

"Force of habit. I didn't even realize it until about two seconds  
before you said it." I wait for a moment. He maintains the silence  
as if he knows that I'm about to continue. Yes, we're that close.  
"How long have you been awake?"

"Long enough to hear you switch from your breathing pattern to mine.  
How long have you been awake?"

"I don't know. Maybe half an hour?"

"Why are you awake?"

"I heard the power come back on." I know, it sounds strange, but I  
really did. There are loud machines in this building that hum  
quietly. It's loud enough that when the power goes out you notice  
that it's gone and it's loud enough to wake you when the humming  
resumes.

"Oh, I see."

"No you don't, but I'm too tired to explain it." I'm smiling, but  
despite the dark I'm pretty sure that he knows it. "You want  
something to drink?"

"Didn't you just say that you were tired?"

"What does that have to do with drinking?"

"I don't know. I just figured that you wouldn't want to get up."

"Normally, you'd be right. But right now I have an incredible craving  
for a wine cooler."

"It's three a.m., Scully."

"So?"

"Good point. If I go get it, will you share?"

"Gladly."

+++++++++

I can't believe this. When I saw him walk into the room with out  
another glass and only the bottle that the cooler actually came in, I  
thought that one of two things had happened… I only had one left or he  
had changed his mind. Well, I was wrong on both accounts. He's  
decided that "sharing" means that we are actually going to drink out  
of the same bottle. Now, I know that we have drunk after each other  
before, but this situation is severely more intimate. We're in the  
same bed, and it's alcohol. This has got to be in the rulebook  
somewhere. Watching this man drink could seriously be marketed as  
an aphrodisiac! I'm almost lost for what I should do when he hands me  
the bottle. I'm almost numb as I take it. I'm almost too entranced  
to drink. Almost. Right now the only thing I can think of is that  
I'm about to put my lips where his were just a moment ago. That idea  
has me positively giddy. 

He's got that look on his face again. The one that says, "I know  
exactly what's going on in that little head of yours. Aren't you  
embarrassed?" That's the face I usually nod at without thinking and  
then wind up with the verbal question, "What are you agreeing with,  
Scully?" That's almost more embarrassing. The small smirk on his  
face changes almost imperceptibly when I lead my lips to the rim of  
the bottle with the tip of my tongue. I know that was a dirty trick  
and hardly fair at all. But it's dark and I wasn't really sure if  
he'd see it, but he did. I also know that what I just did will make  
up for ten innuendoes that I never made. The smirk is back on his  
face and I momentarily wonder if he is going to reciprocate in kind.  
He doesn't. He merely takes the bottle from me and sips again while  
turning the television to CNN and slipping on his reading glasses. He  
didn't reciprocate in kind. He knows what those glasses do to me. He  
knows what those glasses do to all women. No he didn't reciprocate in  
kind… he reciprocated in excess!

+++++++++

I am an utter wreck. It's been three weeks since Mulder has started  
"sleeping over" and I'm toast. He hasn't missed a night in three  
weeks and all of a sudden, he's not here tonight. There is a big  
empty space in my bed, and all the warmth is gone. When we "sleep"  
together we never touch. It's definitely a matter of space. He has  
his space over there and I have my space over here. I rarely venture  
into his space and he never ventures into mine. I say that I rarely  
venture into his, because I did once. It was before he arrived that  
night-he was running very late-and I had sprawled across the entire  
bed with my head on his pillow. He woke me up by sitting on the edge  
of the bed and rubbing my back while he quietly said my name. I have  
to say that's the best way I've ever been woken up in my life… that's  
not to say I can't think of better ways to be woken up! But he woke  
me up and asked me to move over so he could come to bed. He undressed  
and put on one of the clean T-shirts that he keeps folded neatly on  
top of my dresser. By the time he got into bed I was asleep again.

But tonight he's not here. I don't really want to call and find out  
why not, I don't want him to think that I wait for him or that I  
really like this pattern that we have established. When we wake up to  
my alarm in the morning… correction, when I wake up to my alarm in the  
morning, I put on the coffee before I ever try to wake him up-he wakes  
up much better to the smell of Folgers than he does to the smell of  
plain air. He has a cup of coffee and then throws on a pair of sweats  
and heads home to get ready. I've started to ask him if he wanted to  
keep some clothes here twice but I stopped myself. That would be too  
much like he was living here. I mean, it's strange enough that he's  
sleeping here. I don't want to push it too much; I like having him  
here and I know that he likes being here. I can honestly say that I  
have never slept so well as I sleep when he is here.

But tonight he's not here. I don't know where he is and my heart has  
finally gotten the better of me. I'm dialing his number right now.  
It's three a.m., but I don't seem to be worried about waking him up.  
Remember I said that watching him drink could be marketed as an  
aphrodisiac? Well, his voice could be billed as the ultimate bedroom  
voice. I have never heard anything quite like his voice in the middle  
of the night. So why isn't he here? Neither of us knew. So now,  
he's on his way over.

+++++++++

Neither of us could figure out why he wasn't here. What an odd  
feeling this is. I'm here and I want him here. He's not here, but he  
wants to be here. So what, then, is the problem? I think that we're  
finally going to talk about this. That's a good thing though, we've  
been three weeks like this with nothing said. The only problem with  
us talking about this tonight is that we have to go to work in the  
morning. So in our best interest I don't put the coffee on. I'm just  
lying here waiting for him to come in. Since he's been sleeping here,  
he never knocks-even when he gets here at a descent hour he just lets  
himself in.

There are definite signs of him here despite his best efforts not to  
make it look or feel like he's living here. His T-shirts, of course,  
are on top of my dresser; his reading glasses are in the table next to  
the lamp on his side of the bed. He has a few minor toiletries in my  
bathroom. But the biggest mark he's left on my home is his scent.  
I'm so used to it now that I'm not sure that I could do without it.  
Everyone has what psychologists call a "comfort" smell, and now I'm  
sure that mine is Mulder-scent. I don't even know what kind of  
cologne he wears, but I'm quickly approaching the stage of my  
impending insanity that I'm going to ask him so I can go buy a bottle  
to hoard for when I'm feeling supremely bad. Of course I could just  
ask Mulder to stand really close to me during those times. He'd  
probably comply.

It's his voice that startles me. "Scully?" He is standing in my  
bedroom doorway holding two steaming cups of cappuccino from  
Starbucks. "Did I scare you?"

"No, I was just off in another world." My voice has taken on a  
velvety edge in response to his thick contralto. This evening has  
been intensely rough on us both, I guess. He's still standing in the  
doorway, looking. He's just looking at me. No smile, no frown, no  
happiness, sadness, or anger. He's just looking. There's a word for  
that. Gazing. Then his words pop into my head. "I don't gaze at  
Scully." My smile at the internal conversation must convince him that  
this is safe territory. The only way to describe how he enters the  
room is to say that he saunters in.

"Sit up. This coffee is hot." Normally, if he said something like  
that to me, I'd be mad as hell, but tonight it seems to fit.

"Thanks for the coffee. What's the occasion?"

"No occasion. We just need to talk."

Oh halleluiah! He knows that we need to talk and he's ready to do it.  
"Yeah, you're right. We do need to talk."

He settles himself next to me on the bed. He kicks his shoes off and  
stuffs the pillows against the headboard behind his back. "I think I  
should explain why I started this."

"If that's what you want to do."

"No, I don't want to. Not at all. But I need to tell you and you  
need to know."

"Okay, but before you do, I want to say something."

"All right." He clasps my hand for reassurance and I nearly come  
undone. Our fingers are intertwined and he's rubbing the back of my  
hand with his thumb. "Scully?"

"I'm sorry. I kind of zoned out there for a moment." My pause is  
long, but he can tell that this time I am just collecting my thoughts.  
"Mulder, I don't consider myself a feminine, man-needing woman.  
More than that, you know I pride myself in my independent strength."  
He nods. "But something has happened to me over the past three weeks.  
For the first time in my life I'm having trouble sleeping if someone  
isn't here. And not just anyone, Mulder, you. So before you say  
anything, just know that I am as emotionally wrapped up in this as you  
are."

He's breathing very deeply and very slowly. That means that he's  
choosing his words carefully. "The first night that I stayed here, I  
mean here," he says gesturing at the bed, "something happened to me.  
Well, actually, something didn't happen to me. I didn't dream and I  
didn't wake up. I don't sleep anywhere like I sleep here. I know  
why. You've always represented something good and safe to me. You're  
kind to me when few other people are. You seem to know that my  
hang-ups are just that-not major character flaws. But above all,  
you've never broken my heart."

"I'm afraid that I don't understand." I feel so helpless with that  
comment. The man just bared his soul to me and I have to ask him what  
he means.

"You've never tried to take away something important to me. You're  
the only one who hasn't."

"That's because if I hurt you, I hurt me too. I would never, could  
never, intentionally hurt you, Mulder. You mean too much to me. I  
wish… I wish there was something I could say to let you know the depth  
of this, but there isn't. I just need you to believe that this is a  
truth. My truth." I'm pleading with him now as if he won't believe  
me. I think he will, but the man has been wounded too many times for  
me to know for sure.

"I know, and I believe you. Of course I believe you. This," he says  
gesturing again, but now including me, "has been one of the most  
monumental things to ever happen to me. It's not just the closeness  
here, or the safety. It's the fact that I finally trust someone  
enough to be completely off-guard around them. Did you know that's a  
really big deal for me?"

"I hadn't really thought about it. But now that you mention it, I  
guess I can see it. I'm glad that you trust me that much."

"More than anyone." He smiles at that comment and I know that the  
mood is lightening, if slowly.

"Me too." He squeezes my hand again and then releases it only to pull  
me into a hug. The embrace is awkward since we're both sitting on the  
bed and I'm still holding my coffee. "Mulder?" I question into his  
shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Let me put down my coffee so that we can do this right." He releases  
me and I dispose of the coffee only to be pulled immediately back into  
his arms. 

+++++++++

Another night has turned into another day, and that day has turned  
into night. Mulder and I are laying here in utter shock. A mutual  
friend… an artist… has just passed away. I cried, I think that Mulder  
cried a little too. I'm propped up on my side, elbow crooked, left  
hand supporting my head drawing patterns on the mattress between us  
with our clasped hands. Every few minutes my eyes well up with tears,  
and every few times enough liquid has collected to roll leisurely down  
my face. When that happens, Mulder uses his free hand to wipe my face  
dry and then uses the back of the hand that is locked with mine to  
gently stoke my cheek. This must all sound terribly romantic, but I  
assure you, we're only drawing strength from one another through our  
joined hands. 

His eyes are dark with thought. A small frown is affixed to his face  
giving him a stoic look at best. We talk little, but every now and  
again one of us has the urge to speak. His eyes soften slightly when  
another tear tracks its way down my face. This time he breaks the  
pattern he's established by streaking it away with our coupled hands  
rather than his lone hand. He draws his hand, now damp with warm  
liquid salt, to his lips to place a kiss of compassion to my side of  
the bond. His lips are fire against me and I start slightly at the  
caress. His kiss was more of a touch than a kiss, but is sufficed in  
its situation. I squeeze his hand in response.

"I can't believe it." That's me. I've said it probably two dozen  
times tonight and he always responds with.

"Neither can I." He adds a new phrase every time and this time it's;  
"She seemed so… vital." His last word came with effort. There is  
little way to describe Anna without using words like vital, eclectic,  
eccentric, or unique. Though she was a strange woman, she was a kind  
and gentle woman. She asked Mulder on a date one time... she's twenty  
years his senior. He took her out anyway and said they had a  
wonderful time. "What are you thinking, Scully?"

"Nothing. Everything. It's all happening at once inside me,  
understand?"

"Yeah, I understand." Minutes pass, maybe half an hour and then he  
speaks up again only to say to words that sum up our entire lifetime  
together. "Come here." Those two words say so much more than  
everything that they could mean. He could talk for hours and not  
impact me the way that those two little words did. I mean, I'm right  
there with him but he wants me closer, so I go. He tugs me to him to  
let me know exactly where he wants he. My head is now cradled in the  
hollow of his right shoulder; my body aligned with his. Our hands are  
now over his heart and my free hand is resting on the pillow just  
above his head. The night wears on with little sleep and no  
movement.

+++++++++

It's morning, and if Mulder were awake, I'd be mortified. I suppose  
that we finally slept around four this morning, and now it's ten.  
Thank God it's Saturday. Sometime during the delicious sleep than  
finally took me over I sprawled my right let across him and let my  
body engulf his right side. Our hands are no longer joined, my hand  
is now flat against his chest and I can feel his thudding heartbeat.  
Slowly, so I won't wake him up, I slide out of bed and practically  
right into my robe that is lying at the foot of the bed. 

In the kitchen I purposefully don't put on the coffee since I know the  
smell will wake him. Right now, I am content to let him sleep. The  
phone rings once and I dash to it in hopes that the ringing won't wake  
him. The extension by my bed has the ringer turned off since he  
started sleeping over. "Hello." I sound breathless, but it's  
probably due to the hundred-yard dash that I just ran across my  
apartment.

"Hi, Dana."

"Hi, Mom. How are you?"

"I'm fine. How are you? You sound out of breath."

"I know. I didn't want the phone to wake Mulder so I." I trail off as  
I realize what I just said.

"Fox is there?"

"Uh-" Brilliant, Dana.

"Dana? He's asleep? At ten?"

"I, Uh-" There's that brilliance again.

"Well?" I can practically hear the smile in her voice.

I decide to tell the truth even if it is only a half-truth. "Yeah,  
he's here. A friend of ours died last night and we were both taking  
it pretty rough. He came over late and ended up just crashing here."

"Oh." If I didn't know better I'd say she sounded disappointed.  
Hell, she probably is disappointed. She really likes Mulder and is  
still hoping that I am going to make him her son-in-law. What she's  
never realized-or maybe she has realized but refused to accept-is that  
I need to be in love with him. Well, that problem's solved, but now  
is hardly the time to deal with all of that.

"So what's up, Mom?"

"Nothing, sweetheart, I was just calling to chit-chat." Our nothing  
conversation goes on until I hear Mulder pad up behind me. He places  
his hand on my shoulder to let me know that he wants something. 

I turn to face him and he mouths, "Who is it?"

"Mom." I mouth back.

"Oh." He nods. "Coffee?" Our silent conversation continues. I just  
nod.

"Honey?" I hear in my ear.

"What?"

"I asked you if you thought I did the right thing."

"Oh, right. Yeah, mom, I'm sure you did. Why are you asking me for  
reassurance, though?"

"Well, you are a law enforcement officer."

That's when I realized that I should have been paying better attention  
to the conversation. "Law enforcement?" Wow, I sound so intelligent  
today.

"Dana, are you really listening?"

"Yeah, mom, I'm sorry. I was distracted for a moment."

"Well, I need to go swap the laundry over, so I'll let you go. I love  
you sweetie."

"I love you too. I'll talk to you later." 

As I hang up the phone Mulder flops down onto the couch beside me  
saying, "Coffee'll be ready in a few. What did your mom have to  
say?"

"Nothing in particular, she just wanted to chat."

"Oh." There really isn't much you could say to that.

"What time did you finally fall asleep?"

"Around six, I guess." Six? That means he may have witnessed my  
human blanket moment. Oh jeez. Well, don't fret about it, there  
isn't much you can do. "Did you sleep okay? You were out like a  
light about four."

"Yes. I slept okay."

"Were you comfortable?" 

I'm hoping that this conversation is circumstantial. "Yes. Were you  
comfortable?"

"As usual." He pauses a moment and then states, "You're hoping that I  
don't know."

"Know what?" It's best to play dumb in this situation.

"I don't really care. It's no big deal. You obviously think it is,  
but it isn't."

"What, Mulder?"

"Okay. I guess if you want to play it that way you can, it's not like  
it's a big deal or anything. I just thought that you'd like to know  
that I slept better that way too."

"What way?"

"Touching." He leaves me with my mouth gaping. The man never ceases  
to amaze.

+++++++++

I really can't believe that conversation just happened. It's so  
surreal to think that he was thinking exactly what I was thinking.  
Not only that, but he knew it. I don't know why I'm so embarrassed  
about this. It's not like it was a conscious move on my part. But,  
he said he slept better with us touching. Honestly, I slept better  
too. There's something about another human form lying next to you.  
Under up. All around you.

I'm still so tired. I think that I'm going to go back to bed.  
Detouring by the kitchen to get a rain check on the coffee, then into  
bed. Mmm, delicious. The bed smells like him. Isn't it funny how a  
man and a woman can both occupy the same space, yet the scents  
associated with him will cling? Maybe only women smell it. Maybe men  
will smell the scent of the woman. Perhaps we adjust to our own scent  
and that's why we smell the other person so strongly. But I digress.  
I was talking about how delicious his scent is clinging to my bed. I  
guess I should stop referring to it as "my" bed and start calling it  
"our" bed.

It's amazing how when the eyes are closed all the other senses perk  
up. For instance, I know he's at the door right now. And it doesn't  
take closed eyes to figure out that he's just lain down beside me.  
It's would take a closed heart, though, not to realize the potential  
in this situation. I move nearer to him and finally settle my head  
upon his shoulder. I cover his heart with my palm, and then he covers  
my hand with his own; his other arm is wrapped around me. I think  
that we've just reached a new comfort level.

+++++++++

I wake up around two to see Mulder flipping through the channels on my  
television with me still resting on his shoulder, arm sprawled across  
his chest. "You could have gotten up if you wanted to. I would have  
gone back to sleep."

"I know. I didn't want to. Besides, you looked so comfortable."

Sitting up I say, "I was, thank you."

"You're welcome." He settles on the AMC movie channel that's playing  
Oklahoma. "You want to watch?"

"Sure. But let's go into the living room. We'll be more comfortable.  
I want to get dressed any way."

"Okay, I'll go tune it in. You want a soda or something?"

"Actually, I'm pretty hungry. Why don't you order a pizza." I begin  
pushing him out of the bed. "Come on, get up. I want to get dressed  
and I'm starving."

He chuckles at me, "I'm going, I'm going. You want the usual?" He  
says referring to my usual half of veggie pizza next to his supreme. 

"No, I want pepperoni." 

"Who are you and what have you done with the real Dana Scully?"

"Just go!" I sound pleasantly exasperated. Then it hits me.  
Mulder's going to hang out here today. It's the first time he's done  
this since he started sleeping over. Wow. Maybe that part of our  
relationship will get back to normal now. There's no reason that we  
can't be the kind of friends we were before all of this started.

I pull on a pair of jeans and my FBI field training seminar  
"INSTRUCTOR" tee shirt. As an afterthought I pull on a pair of  
fluffy white socks. Then I realize that Mulder is walking around my  
apartment in his boxer shorts and under shirt. I pull his bag out of  
the closet and put it on the bed for him. I expect he'll want to get  
dressed.

I meet him in the kitchen pouring a can of coke into a glass that's  
next to my cold can of Diet Coke. I've always kept regular Coke here  
for him; I wonder why it seems so personal now. It's because he's  
pouring soda in my kitchen in his underwear. "Why don't you go throw  
on some clothes? I'll finish here."

"Okay." He turns to me with a full-blown smile on his face. I had  
forgotten that a well-rested Mulder was a happy Mulder. "Pizza will  
be here in about ten minutes."

"Mmm, good. Can't wait." He hands the half can of coke to me to  
finish pouring into the glass.

"I'll be out in a few minutes. My wallet is on the table if the pizza  
happens to show up before I get out."

"Okay." It's kind of become an unspoken rule that Mulder pays for  
food. I don't know why but it doesn't bother me anymore. I used to  
feel like he was doing it because he was the man. But now I know that  
he's doing it because he's discovered that it's one of the few ways he  
can "take care of me".

"Scully? You're just standing there, staring off into space."

"Oh, sorry. Go on ahead and change. I'll finish here."

"Are you okay?"

I turn on a smile to convince this that I'm fine, but I refrain from  
using that actual phrase. "Yeah, I'm okay, I was just lost in thought  
for a moment." I know he doesn't believe me when I say `I'm fine'. I  
don't usually believe myself.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not saying that you're fine. I actually believe you when you say  
anything else."

"I know. You're welcome." The man is eerie in his familiarity with  
my innermost thoughts. It's almost as if he rented space in my head.  
In effect, he really does. So much of my life, and therefore my  
thought, revolve around him: the cases we work, what he'll think, and  
mostly and most importantly what he'll feel. "Go on now. You don't  
want to miss the movie."

"Right." He shines a peculiar smile at me before leaving to go  
change.

+++++++++

The pizza's eaten and Mulder and I are sitting here on the couch  
enjoying the end of the classic musical that I never dreamed he'd  
watch. But, alas, he seems to be enjoying it. Like I said… he never  
ceased to amaze. We're doing that comfort level thing again. He's  
got his arm stretched out behind me on the couch and we're sitting  
close enough together for me to lean against him and put my head on  
his shoulder. That seems to be a pleasant position for us. But I,  
being the perpetual worrier that I am, have to break the spell by  
analyzing it. 

"Mulder?"

"Hmmm?" Oh God, that voice. It liquefies my insides every time he  
uses it.

"I." can't do it. I can't ruin the moment. But the man is utterly  
amazing.

"I know. It's okay. You know, this is strange for me too."

But you handle it so much better than me."

"That's because I have nothing to hide."

"What do you mean?"

"All in due time."

I settle into him a little more, "What the hell is that supposed to  
mean?"

"That you'll understand when we're both ready for you to."

"Are you sure about that?"

"As sure as I am of what I'm talking about."

"Now you have me really curious."

"I guess you'll just have to wait. They do say that good things come  
to-"

"Those who wait. Yeah, I know. I just hate waiting. Especially  
when it sounds like whatever it is involves me a great deal. And why  
do you have to be ready for me to understand?"

"Do you really not know what I'm talking about?"

"Mulder," I sit up to address him seriously, "I don't know what you're  
really talking about. But, I do know what I hope you're talking  
about."

"And what's that?"

"Uh-uh. You started this. You have to say it."

"You do know." The look on his face is priceless. This isn't where I  
intended for this conversation to go when I started it, but this is  
just as well.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I know. You don't have to say it. I want you  
to want to say it."

"I do."

"So say it."

"It's not that simple."

"I know." He draws me back into his embrace and our movie is  
forgotten. "Mulder, there are so many things that are important to  
me. You know that. What you don't know is that of everything I have,  
you are the most important to me. That's why I want you know that you  
should only say it if you really want to, not because you feel like  
you should."

"Do you want to say it."

"Yes."

"Then say it."

"I can't say it first."

"Why not?"

"Insecurity. I don't really know. All I know is that I want you to  
say it first. I need you to say it."

"I love you."

"Oh wow."

"Not the reaction I was hoping for."

"I'm sorry. I've just imagined it so many times, but hearing you say  
it is kind of surreal."

"Oh."

"But Mulder, don't worry. Don't be sad or self-depreciating." He  
opens his mouth to speak. "Don't say anything. You have that look  
you always get when someone has stepped on your toes. I just want you  
to know that you never have to worry about me not saying it or not  
meaning it. I love you, too. I think I always have and no matter  
what, I always will."

"Well. This changes things."

"No it doesn't. We both knew it all along."

+++++++++

It feels so good to have the air cleared about our feelings. I have  
never been as honest with myself as I have been since the revelation.  
I remember saying once before that we know a lot about each other, he  
and I. I know now that really, we know everything and absolutely  
nothing all at once. What do we really know? We know each other's  
expressions, movements, and words. We know feelings, feels, and  
touches. We even know hopes, fears, and aspirations. We also know  
that we love each other with such blinding passion that nothing could  
cool our souls even time. But by knowing nothing I mean that just as  
we know how deeply we love each other, we don't know. He could never  
imagine how my lungs seem to collapse when he walks through the front  
door with a smile on his face. He could never know how my heart aches  
every time he sleeps through the night in my bed. In my arms. He  
could never know that feet don't touch the floor each time he brings  
something else of his here; making my home his own. He could never  
know that knees weaken every time he mentions the future and we're  
both there together. 

We've moved our comfort level into full-blown tranquility in each  
other. He lives here now. He's part of my family in a way my own  
family isn't. Truth be told, Bill accepts him now as an integral part  
of my life. Mom is so happy that she's even gotten off our backs  
about wedding preparations. We are getting married; we're just in no  
hurry. In all senses of the word we already are. The only thing  
that we don't have is the license. Yes, we even have the rings.  
They're sitting on top of our dresser, one on top of the other. They  
fell that way when he put them down and I feel like fate was being  
immensely symbolic in that gesture.

Our lovemaking is passionate beyond belief. It's as if we were made  
to touch only each other and had fumbled around until that point.  
He's a considerate lover with more skill than I ever dreamed of  
possessing, but I am an apt pupil. He's already taught me things that  
I never knew were possible. We've invested in the Kama Sutra library  
but haven't yet needed to crack a book.

One other thing. We've bought a house. We are both tired of  
apartment life and Mulder is anxious to get a dog. I want a cat.  
We'll have both. We're moving into the house in sixty days. He's  
already backed out of the lease on his apartment giving a tidy sum of  
his deposit up in the process. Remember Mulder's uncle who died?  
Well, he left him a tidy sum of money that is going to last us for  
quite some time.

So, we're going to do it. We're going to live together first, get  
married second and even my Priest is blessing us. I'm excited and  
scared, it's the same feeling I had when I left for college. But now,  
I feel as if I'm leaving for life. I can't wait for my life to really  
begin and I'm beyond happy that it's beginning with Mulder. I wonder  
sometimes what took us so long. Then he reminds me with a few words  
of wisdom, “People who are sensible about love are incapable of it."  
The first time he said it I didn't know what he meant. It kept me up  
that night until I finally figured it out. He meant that we we're  
giving it too much though. When we finally let it happen it flowed as  
in a dam had been broken. As soon as it took over we we're suddenly  
capable. It's an amazing thing this love. I hope that nothing is  
ever this blinding, anymore sheer happiness would make me a fool.

+++++++++

Our home is absolutely amazing. Tonight we're having a barbecue in  
the back yard. Mulder's got steaks on this grill and is doing an  
incredible job of entertaining my mother, Bill, and his family. I  
find it completely remarkable that Mulder and Bill are getting along  
as well as they have been. There have been no hostile words spoken  
since Bill and Mulder formed a truce at my mother's house the night we  
announced our engagement. 

The puppy is lying at Mulder's feet forcing him to step around him  
every time he wants a new spice. "Honey? Call Tyson so I can at  
least cook!" His exasperated voice wafts through the open screen door  
and into the kitchen where I'm finishing the potato salad. "He's  
probably hungry." I oblige and call the dog. He's definitely  
Mulder's dog but he at least gives me the illusion of control when I  
call his name.

Mulder and I have adjusted well to life together. He's gotten used to  
calling me Dana but usually just calls me the new endearment for the  
week. I, on the other hand, can't get used to calling him Fox even  
though he insists. I just can't see putting him through that if the  
name bothers him so much. He insists that he doesn't mind when I use  
his name, but I've seen the distaste flicker across his face when he  
hears it used. He's already gotten more used to it and has even  
expressed that hearing me say it has brought pleasant connotations to  
mind. 

The doorbell rings and my mother who has just walked in the back door  
announces that she'll get it. I hear her melodious voice from the  
front hall, "Walter! How nice that you could join us!" I still can't  
get used to the fact that the man who was once our superior is now our  
friend. Assistant Director Walter Skinner retired from the FBI two  
months ago tomorrow. He's extremely happy with the new found  
retirement freedom and even expressed at the dinner table a month ago  
that we, Mulder and I, we're his favorite agents. Perhaps that's why  
he hangs around now. I think he just likes Tyson.

The down side to us having a new superior is that we've been separated  
due to our relationship. But it's okay really, we still see each  
other at work. Mulder works for the BSU now doing mostly  
profiling-the X-Files were shut down just after Skinner retired.  
Mulder took it very well considering and then, after a few sessions  
with the bureau psychologist, he decided that since the work there was  
really done he thought he could handle a more mainstream job. I have  
been transferred to Medical Crimes. I am actually enjoying my work  
there. I get to use my medical skills daily and I'm even up for  
promotion to Assistant Director of Medical Crimes. The Director of  
the unit just happens to be an old friend from Quantico.

Our lives have taken of the ring of normalcy and I think that at this  
point in our lives we are both ready for it. The wedding is next  
month and all the plans have been made. Mom is putting the finishing  
touches on my custom made-by-mom wedding dress and all that's left to  
do is send out the invitations; that will happen tomorrow. Right now,  
my family and friends are sitting on my back porch waiting for me to  
come to dinner. I don't think it gets much better than this.

+++++++++

We've been married now for eight months and things just seem so  
normal. Our lives have come together in a way that we never imagined  
possible. There is a reason for that. We've just adopted a baby.  
We're both older that the agency really wanted but considering our  
backgrounds and the money they let us adopt. Her name is Gwendolyn  
and she is the most adorable little thing you've ever seen. The  
strange and wonderful thing is she has red hair and green eyes. She  
doesn't really look much like us, but we're going to tell her she's  
adopted anyway. We've decided to tell her the truth since we've both  
been surrounded by so many lies. We're not worried about her finding  
her birth parents because she won't. She wasn't orphaned by choice,  
her parents we're killed in house fire. He real father had gone in  
after her and died later of severe burns and smoke inhalation. The  
mother died in the house. We're giving Gwen a chance for the kind of  
like she wouldn't have been able to have if the other three families  
interested in her case had adopted her. Mulder and I were the most  
we'll off couple interested. I'm glad that Gwen is with us, but I'm  
also sorry that the other potential parents who would have loved her  
just as much are going to have to keep looking.

Despite the bad in our lives Mulder and I are completely happy now.  
We're parents first and foremost. We're married, we have the home we  
both dreamed of, wonderful jobs and our pets. We've become solid  
members of upper-middle America and we're both involved in so much.  
We have real friends for the first time in many years and we both  
belong to community organizations. It seems like we have adapted well  
to our new lifestyle. We're normal, believe it or not. Mulder isn't  
called Spooky anymore and his new strait-laced attitude has put him  
inline for his own Assistant Directorship. We're moving up and moving  
on, he and I. It looks good on us. We're going to do well and we  
love each other enough to know that even though it looks easy it  
really isn't and we try hard for each other. I couldn't honestly ask  
for anything more.

~Finish~

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted at the Delphi boards and then later at The Gossamer Project. Gossamer tells me I posted it in July of 2001. I think I may have finished it shortly before then, because if memory serves, the final chapter of this story was posted to Delphi on the day I graduated from high school (which would have been 2 months prior).
> 
> I have one more, older, X-Files fic still over on Gossamer. It's going to take considerably more effort to bring over and is, at least, 200% more hilariously worse.


End file.
